Chapter Twenty-Three

Horse Lords

As one, the horsemen wheeled their steeds to ride up the slope behind us, around, and down in front, closing the moving circle tightly around us. Legolas, Gimli, and I sat motionless, watching Aragorn, who still stood. The wind from the horses' passage whipped his hair and cloak around him, but he weathered the gale and seemed to master it, and it only served to make him seem more kingly.

The Riders halted without visible or audible signal, all of them pointing either spears or arrows at us. One rode forward, taller than his fellows, and poked his spear at Aragorn's chest. "Who are you, and what is your business in this land?"

"I am called Strider," he answered, unperturbed. "I have come out of the North. I am hunting orcs."

This seemed to enrage the Rider, for he threw himself out of the saddle, shoved his spear into his subaltern's hand, and drew his sword. Less than a foot lay between him and Aragorn, and every inch of that air was charged. The Rider's expression softened at length from anger into wonder under the force of Aragorn's gaze, and he spoke again.

"I took you for orcs at first, but now I see that you are not, and indeed you must know little of them, to hunt them so. It is well for you that you did not overtake them, for they would have slain you. Or perhaps not, Strider, for you are strange, and that is no proper name. Strange is your raiment as well, that you escaped our sight. Come you from the elves?"

Aragorn answered that, among us, only Legolas was an Elf, but that we had all passed through Lothlorien and bore Galadriel's gifts and favor. The Rider did not seem to know how to react to this. His eyes widened and then grew steely. "So the tales are true, and there is a lady in the Golden Wood. She is a great sorceress, some say, and perhaps you are like to her in this: weavers of magic." His gaze raked me, and then moved on to Legolas and Gimli. "Why do the rest of you remain silent?"

Gimli leaped up, axe ready, faster than I would have given him credit for. "I will give you my name, horsemaster, and more, if you will give me yours." The crack about Galadriel had angered him, I think.

Horseboy stared him down. "As a stranger in these lands, you should declare yourself first, but I am called Éomer son of Éomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark."

Gimli answered him back, warning him against foolish words and comments regarding things too great for him to understand. I could tell the Dwarf was fairly spoiling for a fight.

So were Éomer and his men, who grumbled and shook their spears when Éomer threatened to behead and debeard Gimli, if only the Dwarf were a little taller.

Legolas did not like this, and sprang up beside Gimli, arrow already notched. I had not even seen him draw it. Éomer raised his sword at that, creating quite a little impasse. I watched from the ground as Aragorn stepped in between the near-combatants and diffused the situation by asking Éomer's pardon and telling him that when he knew more he would understand our reactions. He ended with the promise that we meant neither Rohan nor her people harm, and begged him to hear our story before he passed judgment upon us.

Éomer let his sword fall to his side. "Less pride would be more fitting for strangers in Rohan these dark days. Tell me your true name." He scowled at Aragorn.

"Gladly," the Ranger countered, "when you have named to me the one you serve, and if it is not the Dark Lord."

Éomer declared that he served only King Théoden, the Lord of the Mark, and that Rohan neither served nor openly opposed Sauron. Trouble threatened at all of Rohan's borders, he said, and also that his people desired only freedom, serving no lord, good or evil. "Once guests were welcome in the Golden Hall," he concluded, "but now the unlooked-for stranger is met swiftly and hard. Now, whom do you serve, and at whose command do you seek orcs in Rohan?"

"I call no man master," said Aragorn, "but the Dark Lord's minions I hunt wherever they may go. I know much of orcs, more than I would wish, and it is not by choice that I go hunting them thus. They have captured two of our friends, and we run after them because we have no mounts, with only the numbers and weapons that you see here." He unsheathed Anduril and told Éomer exactly whom he had waylaid.

Having more names than socks can be a wonderful way to make friends and influence people. It certainly worked for Aragorn. He seemed to grow taller, and if he had stretched out one of his hands, a living replica of the Argonath would have stood before us.

Éomer took a step backwards and looked away. "We dwell indeed in strange times when legends and dreams spring from the grass. Tell me, lord," he began, his entire attitude reverent, "what brings you here, and what is the answer to the dark riddle. Boromir of Gondor has been gone long, and the horse we gave him returned riderless to us. What doom do you bring to Rohan?"

"The doom of choice. Tell Théoden King that open war is coming, with Mordor or against it. All lives are changed, and few shall keep what they think secure. I will speak of these great matters later, and to Théoden himself, if chance allows. Now I am in need of aid, or at least of news. That we pursued the orcs, you know. What can you tell us of them?" I wondered why Aragorn bothered asking, for Éomer was helpless in the face of his charisma, and couldn't get the words out fast enough.

"No more pursuit is needed. We destroyed the orcs." I could tell that Éomer was a bit afraid of how Aragorn would take this.

"What of our friends?"

"We found only orcs." Again, that doubt in a face not meant for fear.

Aragorn was visibly shaken also. "That is strange. Did you search among the slain? Their bodies would be small, like children, and clad in gray."

"We found neither Dwarves nor children, though we counted all the bodies before we burned them."

Gimli and Aragorn proceeded to explain hobbits to the Riders, which generated much laughter and confusion, but when Éomer, scoffing, asking if we walked in stories or on the earth in the daylight, Aragorn quelled him. "A man may do both," he said, "for when the legends of our time are made by our children and theirs, who can say what part we will have in them? And this earth is a mighty matter in many legends, though we tread it in the light of day."

Éomer covered the fact that he had been put soundly in his place, and pretended to ignore Aragorn's words, as if that were possible. My head was picking up Rohirric at an astonishing rate, and I got every other word of Éomer's command to his lieutenant, who retired, muttering, and gathered the éored back on the path, leaving us alone with Éomer.

"You speak strangely, Aragorn," he began, "and yet I see that it is truth. There is no falsehood in the speech of the Mark, and so we are not easy to deceive. You have not, I think, said everything, though. Will you now speak more freely, that I may judge what to do?"

Aragorn detailed the Fellowship's journey from Imladris, and told of his plan to go with Boromir to Minas Tirith. He said nothing of the Ring, and only mentioned that Gandalf had led us.

Éomer seized upon the wizard's name, warning us that it was known in Rohan, but that the wizard was no longer favored by Théoden. Gandalf, apparently, had always brought strange news and, some said, evil. He had warned them of war brewing in Isengard, when Rohan had hitherto been friendly with Saruman. Then, Théoden had not listened to the tale of his escape from Orthanc, and Gandalf had departed, taking Shadowfax, the greatest of the king's horses. The steed had returned, but was now wild.

I was beginning to realize that the life of the Rohirrim revolved around their horses. The motif appeared on helm and shield, and before they withdrew, I'd noticed that the horses looked better fed than some of their riders.

Aragorn reported Gandalf's death, and what that had meant to the Fellowship. Éomer, at least, seemed moved. Then the Ranger told of Boromir's fall, and how he had been slain by the orcs the Riders had overtaken.

Éomer shook me with his response. "This is woeful news, and a great blow to both Gondor and Rohan! Boromir was a worthy man. All loved him, though he came seldom to the Golden Hall, being ever at the wars in the East, but I knew him. He seemed to me more like the high-hearted men of Rohan than the dour folk of Gondor, and a great captain to his men. We have heard naught of this sorrow out of Gondor. When was he slain?"

I saw Aragorn open his mouth, and decided I didn't want to be ignored any longer. This man paid tribute to my lord and love: I would answer him. Throwing my hood back, I looked up at him. "It is now four days since he fell. I thank you for your words, Lord Éomer, and your vengeance upon his murderers. I would stand to do so, but I fear my leg will not hold me."

He took in my posture and the state of my right legging, and went down on one knee. I drew myself up as much as I could, which caused his eyes to narrow and then widen with surprise. "What were you to Boromir of Gondor? For he had no...companion when he came to us seeking a mount."

"Our meeting was in Lorien, and we journeyed together from there. He was- we were handfasted. I was with him when he fell on Amon Hen."

Éomer stared. "Amon Hen! That must be forty-five leagues hence. And you have journeyed four days...on foot?"

"Even as we are," said Aragorn from somewhere above us. I nodded.

Éomer looked up at him with, if possible, even more wonder than before. "'Strider' does not do you justice, Arathorn's son. Wingfoot I would call you." He turned back to me. "And you are wounded! This chase shall be sung on many a winter's night in the Golden Hall."

He stood, and looked again to Aragorn. "What would you have me do now, lord? I must return to the king, and he will not take the news you bring well. Open war has not yet come, but some close to Théoden would tell him that it never will. We have long been Gondor's allies, and I and my men will aid them while they fight."

"Then you do not pay tribute to Sauron?" Gimli blurted. I could have kicked him.

Éomer wanted to as well, or worse. "We do not and never have, though I know that lie has been spread. Years ago the Dark Lord offered us much gold for horses, but we refused him. Now orcs plunder our herds, taking always the black horses. Few now are left." That matter put to rest, he continued.

"Saruman concerns us chiefly now. The wizard has claimed lordship over Rohan, and also sends orcs and other creatures against us. He has closed the Gap in the mountains with his wizardry. He is cunning, and goes about everywhere, as do his spies. My heart tells me that they are even now in Edoras, but you shall see for yourself if you journey there. You will come, will you not? Have you not been sent to us for aid in our need?" His tone did not beg, but the words came perilously close, and his eyes beseeched Aragorn, who finally said that he would come when he could.

"Why not now?" Éomer pressed. "Elendil's heir would bring us strength indeed in these evil days." He revealed that he had left Edoras without the king's permission when word reached him of the orcs we had pursued, and how he and his men had slain them near the border of Fangorn yesterday morning. Twelve horses they had lost, and fifteen men, but now the rest of the company was needed in the south and west. Again he begged Aragorn to come, offering us spare horses and plenty of excitement.

Aragorn thanked him for his fair speech, but declined once more, saying he could not desert Merry and Pippin while any hope might still remain. No one who didn't know him would have noticed the tension in every line of the Ranger's body, but I saw how his eyes strayed past Éomer as he spoke and sensed his desire to be away as soon as possible.

"But no hope remains!" Éomer warned. "You will not find them on the northern borders."

As Aragorn told him about finding Pippin's brooch and mentioned other particulars of tracking, my leg spasmed. Changing position did nothing, so I hoisted myself up and leaned heavily on my staff. Éomer was admitting that the hobbits might have slipped unnoticed into Fangorn, with the help of their Elvish cloaks.

"But," he said, "it is hard to be sure of anything in these strange days, when Elf and Dwarf walk together in Rohan, and bring tidings of legends alive: the Lady of the Golden Wood and Elendil's Sword Reforged. How are men to judge in such times?"

Aragorn endured this complete digression, patiently explaining that good and evil had not changed, and that men might judge as they always had.

Almost contrite, Éomer agreed, and said that he did not doubt Aragorn, nor what he himself wanted to do. He revealed that we were likely to be counted trespassers in Rohan, but that he did not wish to begin a battle of three against a hundred.

I privately agreed that these odds would be unfair—to Éomer and his men. Besides, Aragorn explained, he had ridden with the Rohirrim, knew Éomer's father and the king, and so could not truly be counted a stranger. "Never in those days would any lord of Rohan delayed an errand such as ours. You must make your choice, Éomer, to aid or to at least let us go. Or waylay us, as the law demands, but this will leave you with even less men to return to home or battle." And possibly, I thought, none at all.

Éomer thought about this for a minute, and as he did, his eyes lingered on me, barely upright, for entirely too long. "Well," he said at last, "we both have need of haste. You must go, and I will lend you horses. But in return I would ask that when you find your friends, or whatever may remain of them, return the horse to Meduseld and present yourself to Théoden King. Thus you may prove that I have judged you aright. On this- your good faith- rides my honor, and maybe my life. Do not fail."

Aragorn promised that he would not, and Éomer shouted for the spare horses to be brought to us. The Riders did not like this. One protested that a Dwarf was no fit master for a horse of Rohan. I thought we might have another riot on our hands when Gimli shot back that maybe a horse of Rohan was not a fitting mount for a Dwarf, and that he would rather walk, but Legolas offered to bear him on his own mount.

My swaying had become nearly visible when Aragorn turned to me and asked quietly, "Can you handle your own mount?"

I stared at him while my pride and the pain in my leg fought a brief, pitched battle. The pain won. I shook my head. The Ranger nodded, and called to Éomer for another mount that would bear two.

The one he brought us nearly distracted me from Legolas and Gimli's mounting antics. Huge and steel-gray, he warmed to Aragorn immediately. As Éomer told us his name was Hasufel, the Ranger coaxed the mount over to me with Elvish whispers and showed me how to blow in the horse's nostrils so that he would recognize me. Hasufel endured my blowing, and only protested a little when I was heaved onto his back.

I am afraid I might have yelled a little at that, as gentle Aragorn tried to be. He checked my leg, grimaced, and said nothing. I was about to ask for a diagnosis when the Ranger launched into a very hands-on lesson in how to handle a horse, ostensibly because if we ran into trouble, he wanted me as far away as possible. I listened, feeling useless and quite stupid.

Gimli, at least, was doing considerably worse. Legolas had insisted on riding bareback, and now the Dwarf clung to him for dear life, severely impairing both their dignities. At least the horse was obeying Legolas. Aragorn mounted behind me, jolting my leg again, and nudged Hasufel over to where Éomer stood watching.

"Farewell," said the Marshal. "May you find what you seek, and return in haste. I would have our swords shine together, and not against one other."

Aragorn promised haste, and Éomer lifted his spear in farewell. The rest of his men did, as well, with some bad grace.

Kicking Hasufel into a canter, Aragorn turned him toward the Entwash. Legolas followed suit, and we rode into the mist together, leaving Éomer and his men behind.